Winter, Gibbous Moon

16 x 16   Oil on Panel

A new year is about to begin. Over the course of the past year I have been thinking about beginnings and the original beginning, creation. Being raised a Catholic my conception of creation comes from the bible. I've mused on the similarities of creating a work of art and the creation story in Genesis. In the beginning, says the bible, there was a void, and God separated the heavens and the earth. My empty canvas is also a void and I decide what will reside in that void and what will not. Next God separated the darkness and the light. I also create lights and darks to illuminate the middle toned void on my canvas. Then God separated the land from the sea and created plants and animals to inhabit them. As I compose my paintings I also decide what plants and animals will inhabit them. Finally God creates man by taking dirt from the earth and breathing life into it. When an artist paints he takes dirt from the earth, mixed with linseed oil, and breathes life into it on the canvas. On the seventh day God rested. That's the hardest part for the mortal artist, there is so much to be painted and so little time.....

Variations on Cezanne's Still Life with a Plaster Cast

30 x 24   Oil on Linen

The idea of variations on a theme has always fascinated me. In music there are variations on an original theme like Bach's Goldberg Variations. There are also variations on a theme by another composer like Rachmaninoff's variation on a theme by Paganinni or Beethoven's variations on Mozart's duet from Don Giovanni "là ci darem la mano." These variations generally begin with simple changes in key or tempo and then go off into marvelous and ingeniously complex manipulations of the original theme. In painting there is a tradition of one artist copying another's work like Rubens' copies of works by Titian or Picasso's interpretations of paintings by Velazquez. But these are wholesale reinventions not variations. So I assigned myself the task of doing multiple variations within a single work by another artist. A theme by Cezanne seemed like a good choice, I chose his Still Life with a Plaster Cast (now in the Courtauld Institute of Art, London). I could have approached the problem by playing with technical elements such as color and composition but instead decided that my variations would be stylistic. The plaster cast, for example, is a more classical rendering than Cezanne's version. The blue draped chair on the left (part of a painting in Cezanne's version but a real object in mine) is painted the way Matisse might have handled it and the floor is reminiscent of Van Gogh's approach. The deep shadows in the upper left hand corner are rendered with multiple glazes à la Titian. The apples on the table represent various artistic styles while the onions return to the way Cezanne himself rendered them. For the paintings stacked on the floor I've introduced cubist, abstract expressionist and religious themes. All of these variations are held together by my own artistic hand and philosophy. I've never seen a painting approached this way before, perhaps I've invented a whole new genre of painting.....

After the Rain

10 x 12   Oil on Panel

The reason I prefer to create plein air oil studies rather than work from photographs is this: the oil studies, no matter how unfinished they may be, are a richer, fuller interpretation of the landscape before me. Photographs are like simple, unadorned declarative sentences. No adjectives, no adverbs, just a record of what fit within the parameters of the lens. When I'm standing outside painting, however, I can express what is going on outside the parameters of my canvas. I can see the clouds moving into my painting and feel the breeze on my face. I am aware of the moisture in the air, the birds singing and the joy of seeing the clearing in the distance. I am not just painting the scene before me but painting the experience of being in that place at that time. Monet's paintings of his gardens are great paintings, not because they accurately describe his garden but because they make you feel as if you are actually experiencing what it was like to be in those gardens. Rembrandt’s portraits are masterpieces, not because he can paint a better likeness than anyone else, but because you feel like you could speak to the sitter. Rembrandt recreates the experience of being in the same space as the sitter. Photography is very good at recording what is in front of you, but painting is able to express the experience of being there. Photography speaks, a painting sings. A good plein air oil study can take me right back to the place I was standing when I did the sketch, I can hear the birds and feel the breeze.....

Testing the Water

24 x 30   Oil on Linen

I create my paintings from nature and observation, memory and imagination. Early on in my painting career I took a 6 week painting trip to England, staying a fortnight each in the Lake District, the Yorkshire Dales and Northumbria. Hoping to bring home a large number of paintings I spent no more than one sitting on each oil study. I was a bit fearful though that I might not have enough information to either finish those studies or create larger works from them so at the end of each session I took a photograph of the scene I had painted. This was before the age of digital photography so when I returned home I took my film to be developed. When I picked up my photographs I was shocked and horrified to find they bore no relation to what I was painting. They were, in fact, records of the scenes I had painted, but were a universe away from what I observed and felt and wanted to express in my painting. They might have been useful to recall a detail of the scene but I knew the more I looked at them the more they would become my memory of each scene. So I threw them all in the trash and decided to trust my oil studies and my memories. Over the years I've painted larger works from those studies and finished others that I thought worked better as small paintings. I've recently reworked one of the larger pieces and am now considering completing the study for that painting from memory, nearly 30 years after it was begun.....

Pansies and Asparagus

18 x 20   Oil on Linen

I recently wrote a reading list called On my Bookshelf for the Art Students League's online journal Linea. There are books on drawing and painting and technique as well as monographs on some of my favorite artists. The final book is a novel, The Horse's Mouth by Joyce Cary
 ...about Gulley Jimson, an artist who will do anything to keep a brush in his hand. Lying, cheating, and stealing are all acceptable behaviors for Gulley so long as they lead to a good piece of canvas to work on. The story is told from Gulley’s point of view, and we read in delightful detail about what inspires him, how he thinks about his subjects and attacks the canvas, and how he deals with friends and foes who help or hinder his efforts to paint. As the novel progresses, his ideas become grander and more complex until it becomes difficult to even find a wall big enough to hold them, and as his vision grows so does his desperation to get it down. The novel has a rather wacky plot, and those who are not artists might find Gulley an unsympathetic, reprehensible character. But to those of us who understand his passion, it is a wonderful journey of survival in a hostile world. Cary, who did some painting in his youth, does a marvelous job capturing what it is like to be an artist and astutely expresses the torment of bringing one’s vision to life on a canvas. “I didn’t know whether I’d be able to live through the night without my picture,” Gulley says. “I’m never really comfortable without a picture; and when I’ve got one on hand, life isn’t worth living”.....

 Untitled Character Study

24 x 20   Oil on Linen

In Genesis we read that God created man in his own image and likeness. Man, therefore, by design, by nature, like God, is creative. It didn't take very long for man to start expressing that creativity as we can see from cave paintings. In addition to painting I suspect the cavemen and women also sang, and danced, and told stories. With every blank canvas or piece of paper, on every empty stage, we repeat the creation story by bringing paintings, and music, and stories and plays to life.....

PAINTING OF THE MONTH

Tinmouth Farmhouse

Oil on Linen

Image 9 x 12 - Framed 14 x 17

$1600

Sometimes, in the heart of a Vermont winter, when the temperatures struggle to get above zero, I like to hang up a sunny landscape and meditate on the joys of summer. Breathe in warm air, breathe out cold air. Breathe in sunshine, breathe out snowstorms. Breathe in shorts and sandals, breathe out sweaters and boots. Breathe in gardening, breathe out shoveling snow. Breathe in dewy grass, breathe out icy windshields. Breathe in rustling leaves, breathe out barren branches. Breathe in long hot days, breathe out long cold nights. Breathe in warm, breathe out cold, breathe in warm, breathe out cold.....

The Painting of the Month is a special offer to my blog readers (click on the image for a larger view). This month Tinmouth Farmhouse, which retails for $2200, is being made available for $1600 (includes shipping, VT residents add 6% sales tax). To purchase this piece contact me at thomastorak@gmail.com. Payment is by check only please, no credit cards. If you prefer you may make 3 monthly payments. This offer is available for 30 days from the date of this post.

Bread and Eggs

18 x 20   Oil on Linen

I was lying awake in bed last night thinking about how to teach my students to create atmosphere in a painting. Painting something you can't see is much more difficult than painting the observed physical forms in front of you. Perhaps if I presented it as painting a concept, as opposed to an object, I might be able to break through. I went to the computer to see what I could find about conceptual art, hoping to find something useful for my lesson. The definition of conceptual art is a rather free floating concept itself but basically any work of art where the original idea, the concept, is more important than the actual work qualifies. Then I went to my website and reread my artist's statement, I use still lifes and landscapes and figures to explore the possibilities of light and space and mystery in a painting it said. I clicked on the image of my Bread and Eggs painting which is not at all about bread and eggs and fruit but rather is about luminosity and atmosphere, design and color. That sounds like conceptual art to me I thought so I went to see the exhibit at the Tate, a comprehensive history of conceptual art starting with what they call preconceptual art, Turner's late seascapes and Whistler's arrangements and symphonies, and then moves on to classic conceptual pieces like Duchamp's urinal/fountain, and there are installations of course, one with a room full of people seated quietly in the middle of the room examining their reactions as lights of varying color and intensity and duration flashed around them, and another where everyone walked through a collection of objects from the life of the artist, again in silence, installations almost always require silence, and observed their feelings about those objects and then discussed those feelings in front of a video camera as they emerged on the far side of the room, thus participating in and becoming a part of the work, then postconceptual work like Damian Hirst's bisected and dissected animals in formaldehyde and Tracy Emin's bed and the last room labeled neo-postconceptual art is filled with my paintings and there is Damian Hirst standing in front of my Bread and Eggs saying "I don't get this stuff", paintings do not require silence, and Tracy Emin bent over reading the curator's text on the wall trying to find out why this is important since has nothing to do with her life or who she has slept with and then I hear music, a Beethoven string quartet, one of his  Razumovsky quartets, and I think what an interesting choice of music for this exhibit, then realize it is my alarm clock, set on the radio mode. I got up and showered and headed out to catch the train to the NY, to try to explain to my students how to create atmosphere in a painting.....

Slate Valley Farm

9 x 12  Oil on Linen

I was looking through a catalog* of Constable's paintings recently and came across the following passage, which I offer as a consolation to any artist who has ever entered a painting in a juried competition.

In 1830 the Royal Academy Council, of which Constable was a member, met to consider entries for the annual Exhibition. An eyewitness reported the following occurence:
a small landscape was brought to judgement; it was not received with favor. The first judge said "That's a poor thing"; the next muttered "It's very green"; in short, the picture had to stand the fire of animadversion from everybody but Constable, the last remark being "It's devilish bad - cross it". Constable rose, took a couple of steps in front, turned round, and faced the Council. "That picture," said he, "was painted by me. I had a notion that some of you didn't like my work, and this is a pretty convincing proof. I am very much obliged to you", making a low bow. "Dear, dear!" said the President [Martin Archer Shee]..., "how came that picture amongst the outsiders? Bring it back; it must be admitted, of course." "No! it must not" said Constable; "out it goes!" and, in spite of apology and entreaty, out it went.....

 * John Constable by Conal Shields and Leslie Parris. Published by Tate Gallery Publications, 1985

Winter Nocturne

18 x 20 Oil on Linen

A few weeks after I moved to Vermont there was an early winter snowstorm. After the driveway was plowed I went down to the general store to pick up my newspaper. As the cashier was giving me my change she asked "did you see the moonlight on the snow last night?" It gave me great joy to know that someone else shared that experience with me. May you all see the moonlight on the snow this holiday season.....

Merry Christmas, or Happy Holidays, to all my friends in the arts and to all those who appreciate what we do

Atlantic Surf

36 x 36   Oil on Linen

Picasso is alleged to have said "bad artists borrow, good artists steal." If that is true then I'm a good artist. Elizabeth and I once took a two week trip to Mount Desert Island in Maine, the home of Acadia National Park. It is a beautiful island with breathtaking views from Cadillac Mountain and a stunning rocky coastline. We spent the entire first week lying on the rocks listening to the waves crash, breathing in the ocean air and reading. Recreational multitasking you might say. The second week we got out our paint boxes and set to work. There was one afternoon that was particularly dramatic. It was a partly cloudy day; when the clouds parted there was a roaring surf, when they gathered again the sound of the waves was muffled. We were both excited. I clambered down the rocks to get close to the sea, Elizabeth liked the view from where she was and stayed up top. We both painted well but there was something very compelling about the way she had used the rocks to frame the sea. I loved that study and over the next few years thought about creating a large painting using her composition. One day I asked if I could borrow her study to do the big painting. "Borrow it?" she said laughingly “You mean steal it”.....

Capriccio

20 x 16   Oil on Linen

When I go to museums I generally find myself spending less time with the well known masterpieces, preferring instead to seek out the small studies and historically less significant pieces. These are often the ones created with the most artistic freedom. Commissioned works are very important to the survival of the artist but are always to some degree a collaboration of the artist and his patron. I like to see what an artist does when he is unfettered. Studies for large works are usually not expected to be seen, or exhibited, or purchased so the artist abandons any attempt at a pretty finish and instead allows the work to be pure expression. When these pieces do survive and are exhibited they are as close as you can come to having a conversation with the artist about his philosophy of art. The other works I like to spend time with are pieces that the artist does for his own amusement. Artistic caprices. Like musical capriccios they are generally upbeat, lively pieces. No great meaning or message, no adherence to rules or dogma, perhaps not even very interesting subject matter, just pure joy in being alive and being an artist.....

A Morning Walk

30 x 32   Oil on Linen

Artists are liars. Botticelli was a liar. So was Renoir. Poussin, El Greco, Corregio, Gainsborough and Eakins were liars. The little Dutchmen, the Hudson River School and the Impressionists were all liars. They all showed you a flat canvas and told you it was not flat. They tried to make you believe you could see fruit and flowers in the round, pastures receding in space dotted with cattle and trees, human figures and groups of human figures, engaged in real, even mythological, activities. It was all a big lie. No matter how real, or spacious, or tactile, or vivid the image seems to you the canvas is still flat. You can lay your hand on the canvas but you can’t pick up the fruit and your hand will not be able to enter the space you think you perceive. It's all an illusion. Perhaps artists are not really liars but illusionist. Magicians. Claesz was certainly a magician. Not only your eyes but your nostrils and tastebuds are set in motion when you look at his still lifes. Corot too. You can feel the breeze and hear the rustling of the leaves in his paintings. Tiepolo was a great magician. He could make you think you were looking though the ceiling of a church and gazing right into the heavens. Rembrandt was an astonishing magician. His portraits not only make you believe you are standing in front of another person, but that you can look the person in the eye and know their character. Each time you view the painting you feel like are visiting a friend. Magic. It can make you believe you are seeing a landscape where two friends are taking a morning stroll, where sunlight floods a distant field and a gentle breeze brushes against the tall grasses in the foreground.....

View of Rupert Mountain

30 x 36   Oil on Linen

In the early '90s, when we were still living in New York, Elizabeth and I decided to spend the summer painting landscapes. After a few unsuccessful attempts to find a suitable place to rent in upstate NY we ventured into southern VT and found a place near the NY state border about an hour north of Bennington. It was an old farmhouse at the end of a dirt road, nestled in a valley with fields gently sloping up on the east and west sides. It had stopped being a working farm many years ago but the current owner still leased out the fields to neighboring farmers who used it mainly as a place for their sheep or cattle to graze or to grow a little extra hay or corn. There was a field that went up behind the house that became a favorite place for me to explore. It hadn't been tilled for years and consequently was full of lush grasses and a dazzling array of wildflowers. If you climbed all the way to the top you could look out over the valley to the mountains on the far side. It was always quiet up there, always peaceful, a great place to think, to dream. I did a lovely little study there that hung in my studio for many years. I was reluctant to show the piece, reluctant to let anyone else stand on that hillside. As time passed, however, I gradually became aware that I did indeed want to share my hilltop. I painted a larger version and sold the study. Now anyone can stand on my quiet, peaceful hillside, look out over the valley, and think and dream.....

Adagio for Peonies

20 x 16    Oil on Linen

Sometimes, like Appassionata in the previous post, my work is inspired by a specific piece of music. More often, however, I hear what a painting sounds like while I am working on it. Not as a finished piece of music but snippets of rhythm or cadence, harmony or dissonance. In the process of painting these peonies I became aware of what the tempo of the piece should be. Artists usually paint flowers in the early stages of development in a soft, flattering light with little or no shadow to express their innocent, gentle, delicate nature. Flowers in full bloom are often depicted in a more dramatic light or a more colorful setting, using livelier brushwork to set off their magnificent array of petals. I was ready to follow that familiar pattern but as I was cutting these peonies I began to feel that they wanted to be presented in a less dramatic fashion. As I set up the arrangement in my studio I could see that it was rich and full yet I heard it not as an allegro or presto tempo but as a lovely slow movement. The brushwork was lively but not showy, the color was intense but not loud, the mood was calm, tranquil, almost meditative. It had become an adagio for peonies.....

Appassionta

24 x 20  Oil on Linen

I heard a program on the radio recently discussing Beethoven's Piano Sonata #23 in F Minor, Op. 57, the one we now know as the "Appassionata" sonata. The host of the program talked about the historical background of the piece and the way different artists have played it using recordings to illustrate his points. It was fascinating to hear a variety of artists playing the same passage. As I listened to each unique version of the opening of the first movement I thought about how I might play that passage on my canvas. The piece opens with a quiet, somewhat menacing, theme played pianissimo, then explodes with a sudden outburst. Some pianists exploited this contrast to the hilt playing nearly silent passages followed by ones that were wildly frantic. Others tried hard to find a way to make the transition without having a heart attack. It is a fabulous piece of music that can make your heart leap and break at the same time. So now the question was could I create a painting with ominous silences and violent outbursts in the same piece? I had some peonies that were about to bloom so I decided to experiment with them. They were budding, pure white festiva maxima peonies, fabulously showy when they in full bloom but achingly beautiful as they begin to open. Piano, piano I thought. Then I set them against a deep red velvet drapery creating a dramatic contrast. Forte, forte. The white theme returns in the drapery, this time less gentle, not played quite so softly. A rich dark frame is the final passage in my sonata. Breathtaking beauty in a rich, dynamic setting. Passion, drama, serenity. Interesting. Now on to the second movement.....

Women in Art III: Painting the Feast

40 x 48   Oil on Linen

The canvas is an empty space. It is the task of the artist to fill that void with light and form and atmosphere, with wisdom and challenge, with thunderous noise and breathtaking silence, with the glory of heaven and the horrors of hell, and with all the infinite variety and nuance of the human condition. The goal is to create works of art that are able to reach out of the canvas and touch the viewer, to move them in a profound way.....

In the Studio

40 x 30   Oil on Linen

There are some artists who think that all art from the past should be discarded so new works can be created without their influence. Others think we should reject all modern art and return to the academic tradition of the 19th century. Some suggest we need to rediscover the secrets of the Renaissance while others advocate adopting a pre-Raphaelite philosophy. I suspect there are some who want to reestablish illuminated manuscripts or cave painting as the art of the day. But we can't undo what was done in the past, or what is being done in the present, and it is unimaginative to recreate work that has been done before. I think the artists of the Renaissance had a healthy approach to their creative endeavors. They admired the work of the ancient Greeks and, rather then trying to recreate Greek art, studied the principles and techniques that made those works great, then added their considerable talents, intelligence and philosophy to those principles to create brilliant, unique new works. For me the Renaissance and Baroque periods represent the height of the art of painting and my work is influenced by their principles and techniques, however there have been many changes in materials (especially pigments), technique and theory since then and when these new materials or concepts are useful I am delighted to bring them to my work. Every artist should study the work of the great geniuses that came before them and then create exciting new paintings that express their own philosophy and personality.....

Our artistic instincts are developed from a very young age. Not long after we are able to control our fingers a crayon is inserted in our little fists and a piece of paper is placed in front of us. We are encouraged to make whatever marks we like and thus commit our first creative act. A broad smile comes across our face as we see the color recorded on the paper and the joy of creativity becomes a part of us. Mommy's applause let's us know that this joyful act has society's approval. After many happy efforts we budding artist have a desire to advance our drawings. Those joyful scribbles soon become harsher and angrier as frustration sets in. Then mommy demonstrates how to make a circle for a head and dots for eyes and the ever fascinating stick figure. Joy returns as the creative juices are set free. With time we learn to draw everything that is around us, house and family, grass and trees, even sun and rain. Then our imagination kicks in and we create fantastic drawings of monsters and dragons, princesses and pirates. We are well on our way to becoming artists, free and uninhibited, joyful and enchanted. At some point in this process some well meaning person notices our pleasure at creativity and offers us a coloring book. We use our well practiced scribbling technique to fill the page with color, blue hair, green faces, purple hands and sleeves, red, yellow and orange for the dress, shoes and legs and background. The lines of the preprinted drawings are often treated as mere suggestions of boundaries. We are then taught to keep our color within the lines and our artistic freedom meets its first test. Some of us agree and learn to control our color while others reject this attempt to inhibit their creativity. Our artistic philosophy begins to take shape. For those of us who continue to explore this avenue of creativity the coloring book experience is repeated over and over again. We are told that if we adopt this or that technique, or manipulate our pencils or brushes this or that way it will produce this or that effect. We are told that if we do this our work will be considered tasteful and if we do that it will be distasteful. As we accept or reject each suggestion, each lesson, we form our artistic philosophy. No two artists will make the same decisions, and the more we learn, the more we accept or reject, the more unique we become. Every time an artists puts a pencil to paper, or a brush to canvas, he must decide if he will paint within the lines or ignore the boundaries.....

Nocturne #19, Winter

16 x 16   Oil on Panel

We made sure we had packed everything, clothes, gifts, cookies, food for the road. Then we settled in for the trip to New Jersey and Pennsylvania to see our families for Christmas. We hadn't gone far before I decided to turn back. There was a light snow falling, I thought it was going to be a beautiful drive. But the car slipped and slid, even though we were going straight and only 20 mph. It would take many extra hours at that pace, if we made it at all without sliding off the road. So we returned home feeling glum and a bit defeated. But now Elizabeth is happily reading a book by the fireplace and I will soon join her to read a few more chapters of the out-of-print biography of Sargent that I recently downloaded from the internet. Nature has intervened to slow down the hectic pace of our lives, giving us time to leisurely watch the falling snow, feel the warmth of the glowing fire, and spend a quiet evening together. Perhaps there really are Christmas miracles. We will repack the car and head out again tomorrow to visit our families but tonight is ours. Merry Christmas my love.....

Nocturne #8, Winter Solstice

16 x 16 Oil on Panel

Most people think of December 21st as the shortest day of the year, I prefer to think of it as the longest night. The sun goes to bed early and the moon and stars come out to play. Moonlight dances on the gnarled branches and slides between the barren trunks. The stars reach out yet never quite touch their neighbors. They seem more brilliant than ever as they nestle into the velvet darkness, they shine with a youthful expectation that this night will never end. Winter will never grow old, there is no thought that the cold nights might begin to thaw. No thought that tomorrow night will be a bit shorter and the next one shorter still. No thought of moonlight dancing on grassy fields and squeezing through leafy trees. No thought of June 21st ever coming, the day most people think of as the longest day of the year, but I think of as the shortest night.....

Nocturne #5, Snow

16 x 16   Oil on Panel

Normally when I step outside to study the night it takes a little while for my eyes to adjust to the change of light, but not on this night. The moon was low and full and big. It illuminated the sky and bounced off the new snow. My shadow suggested it might not be nighttime yet. I began to wonder if it would be cheating to call this a nocturne. I waited and watched as the moon ascended. It had only been an hour or so since the snow had stopped falling. The clouds were gone but there was still a lot of moisture in the air. The thickness of the atmosphere beneath the celestial dome gave the sky a lovely violet hue. I could feel the cool moisture all around me and began to consider the possibility that I might see a moonbow. After a while the moon was far enough away from the earth and the reflection from the ground sufficiently subdued, that I felt confident when I painted the scene it would indeed be a nocturne. Still, when I went to bed that night there was so much light coming in the window I got up to make sure I hadn't left the porch light on....

In the two previous posts we discussed painting physical and psychological portraits of our subject matter and of the light falling on it. Now we must consider a third portrait, the space that our subject occupies. As a simple example of how space affects a painting let's consider a couple of well known masterpieces. Imagine the Mona Lisa without a landscape behind her. If she were portrayed with the same pose and clothing, the same enigmatic smile, but in front of a blank wall, how different the painting would be. Or perhaps Whistler's Mother seen rocking, not in her gray room, but on her front porch or in her garden. Only the space would be different but now we would have a new picture of her. Let's go back to studio 7 at the League where the classroom portrait shown here was painted. There is space between the portrait and the background, in this case a very shallow space. We can't see or feel the space yet we know it exists and we must paint it. If we fail to paint that space our figure will look as if she were glued to the wall. The quality, a portrait, of the space must be expressed, if it is dry or misty, shallow or vast, crisp or gloomy. Now our painting has an excellent chance to succeed, we are painting everything we see, physical and psychological portraits of our subject, the light that falls on that subject and the space it occupies.....

In the previous post we painted a physical and psychological portrait of a female figure. When we paint a landscape or still life we do the same thing; capture a likeness and the character of the trees or fields, or mountains or clouds, or apples or flowers before us. We also want to paint a portrait of the light that illuminates our subject. The figure shown here is a classroom critique that I gave in studio 7 at the Art Students League. Studio 7 has a marvelous skylight so our figure is lit by natural light. Now imagine that you are in the night class in the same studio. You are painting in the same spot, with the same model in the same pose, but with artificial light. The only difference is the character of the light falling on your figure, yet you will have a very different painting. Any plein air landscape painter can tell how frustrating it is when you are doing a sunny painting and the sun moves in and out of the clouds. Each time the sun appears or disappears your painting changes. The light has changed, it has a different character. Now we've become aware that what attracted us to the subject of our painting was not only the scene or the object but also the way it was lit and the quality of that light. So we must paint an expressive portrait of the light. We are now painting two portraits, one of the subject and one of the light, but there is yet one more portrait to consider for our masterpiece.....

When I teach I like to work directly on the student's painting. If I tell them the figure in their painting needs more light or weight, or the drawing is off, they usually understand what I mean. However if I show them how to mix the paint and apply it to the canvas the lesson is seen as well as heard. When they see their painting change the lesson has more resonance. The image posted here is one such classroom critique. Everyone who walks into the classroom wants to learn how to paint what they see. One of my first lessons is to help them understand what they see. "To paint what you see" I tell them "you must paint three portraits at the same time." The first, obviously, is a physical and psychological portrait of the subject before you, in this case a magnificent nude figure. Everyone sees the size and shape of the figure, her proportions and features, the colors and harmonies of what is before them. We don't see weight or character or attitude but we know that is something we want to get into our painting too. But there are two other portraits we must paint in order to paint what we see, a portrait of the light falling on the nude and a portrait of the space she is sitting in.....